The Beast and Dragon, Adored
by Icuras
Summary: Post Chosen. Post NFA. The New Council. Faith. The scoobies. The surviving members of the Fang gang. The future of the slayer line.
1. Chapter 1

**The Beast and Dragon, Adored**

**Summary:** Post "Chosen". Post "NFA". The new Council shows up in LA right after "NFA" looking for Angel . Instead, they run into Faith and whats left of the Fang gang.

**Disclaimer: **My name is Joss Whedoon...if you change and rearrange all the letters. Okay, so the characters aren't mine. The title is from a Spoon song of the same name.

**Notes: **Main focus of this story is my favorite character, Faith. Most of the scoobies will make an  
apperance. Pairings will be explained in the fic.

**FYI:** I am terrible at fight scenes. I dislike most original characters, so most of the bit players don't have names.

**Warnings: **Mild swearing. Character death. Not promising a happy ending.

**Please feel free to point out any mistakes. And most importantly Review.**

**Chapter 1: Angel which Redeemed Me  
(Gen. 48:16)**

"God plants guilt among men when he desires utterly to destroy a house.  
-Aeschylus

Muted voices creeping up from the lobby of the hotel chased the death-like stillness from the dimly light room. Judging by the dust and general disarray, the hotel room had obviously seen better days. The only two occupants of the room, judging by the blood and general disarray of their personages, had also obviously seen better days. Neither tattered individual seemed at all inclined to investigate the disturbance coming from below. One reclining on the unmade bed limbs carelessly arranged around him, a Zen-like peacefulness engulfing his tall ebony figure. The other, a brunette girl, with the wary stillness of a predator about to go for the jugular, was poised on the edge of a ratty recliner facing the prostrate man. Each seemed to be staring across some unfathomable distance, the untouched and untouchable.

Finally, after a loud shriek of what sounded suspiciously like "Spider!" erupting from below, the brunette girl, eyes still unfocused on some distant world, agilely rose to her booted feet. Weary eyes gradually returning back to reality, focused on the handsome face of the black man. She seemed on the verge of speaking, but then, instead, swiftly stepped forward and pulled a thin generic hotel blanket over the vacant body of one Charles Gunn. Former street kid, dedicated demon fighter, card carrying member of team Angel, and most recently a semi-ambiguous lawyer, now gone. Dead, found alone in the filthy alley behind the Hyperion. Dead, drenched in rain and sweat and blood. Dead, fighting an evil law firm, of all things. Dead, fighting a war from the inside the belly of the beast. He was brave and loyal and kicked demon ass. But in the end, he was just dead.

With a final glance around Angel's former room and at the lifeless body of a man she barely knew, Faith turned toward the door. The slayer retrieved Angel's favorite broadsword from where she'd leaned it against the doorframe. Faith found his sword abandoned in the alley near Gunn, no clues to tell what happened to its owner. She turned out the lights and silently closed the door behind her. Stealthily Faith slipped into the shadows of the dark hallway to investigate, and if needs be, tear limb from limb whoever or whatever had disturbed her silent vigil, Gunn's lonely wake.

* * *

Chaos, absolute chaos. 

"Would you please get down from there?! You are supernatural warriors with a sacred calling to protect all of mankind. Try to have a little more pride in your calling…"

Rupert Giles, former librarian, watcher turned ex-watcher turned watcher again, and now official head of the newly re-organized Watcher's Council, could only share a covert grin with his Slayer and his fellow former dark magic user: in truth two of his children. The three of them stood off to the side, vastly amused at the sight before them. Anything to distract them from this supposed "rescue" mission turned salvage mission was welcome.

After arriving in LA to find the crumbled ruins of Wolfram and Heart and all the major players in the demon community wiped out, it was becoming increasingly apparent that the Council had been wrong to abandon the Fang Gang. Wrong about Angel. Wrong not to come to the aid of the LA team. Wrong about so many things. And now it seemed too late. No trace of Angel, or in fact, any of his group had been found at the ruins of Wolfram and Heart. The Council teamcomprised of Giles, Buffy, Willow, several Watchers (each with varying degrees of experience), and several of the newly minted slayers (with practically no experience)were hoping to find some sort of clue or direction at Angel's hotel. Hopefully, searching the hotel would produce answers or at the very least, a base of operations. If, of course, the current crisis could be handled.

The current crisis being one large furry spider, two very agitated well-armed slayers perched on a dusty countertop, and one persnickety young watcher that rather resembled Wesley in his Princess Margaret days. The rest of the party was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

"…Try to have a little dignity," The young watcher's attempts at cajoling the girls down from their perch earned him nothing but a pair of glares.

"Dignity? Dignity! Do you see the size of that thing? I bet it drags off small dogs to eat for breakfast!"

This from a dirty blonde slayer, barely eighteen, waving her short sword frantically in the general direction of the spider. Her crossbow-wielding compatriot joined in.

"Oi! Dogs for breakfast, toddlers for lunch. I'm not going to be dinner. I'm not going anywhere near it!"

After several more moments of nearly apocalyptic tenseness, the fastidious young watcher made a breakthrough.

"Oh, bloody hell. Would someone just get rid of the thing?"

What a wonderful idea. This solution seemed to agree with the trigger-happy slayers and the almost unnaturally large arachnid was subsequently turned into a pincushion, beheaded, and finally mashed into a paste. Thus general order was restored or, as everyone was finding out, what passed for order around any number of slayers. And everyone was finding out quite a lot about working with these chosen girls.

The past year had been all about discovering and redefining what a slayer was and how the council fit in. The past year had been very busy indeed. Busy trying to organize funds and resources. Busy gathering up any active watchers fortunate enough to be absent from Council headquarters the day of the explosion and convincing some retired (in some cases disillusioned) watchers to come back to the fold, and recruiting brand new watchers from outside their exclusive circle of occult experts. Not to mention the newly called slayers. How does one even begin to tell a fifteen-year-old and her family about the demon world? Or a thirty-eight year old mother of two? What to do with a delinquent slayer? Or the disabled and ill slayers like Dana? Luckily, only a handful were extreme cases and thanks to the First, the number of slayers to train wasn't too overwhelming. Yet.

The past year had seen the makeshift family from Sunnydale separated at all corners of the world. Giles back in London piecing together the new council. Willow, still with Kennedy to the surprise of some, in San Paulo working with the local coven and collecting slayers (or in Rio working on their tans). Xander doing well, navigating his way around the poverty ridden countries of Africa with his usual self-depreciating efficiency. After shooting all over Europe pocketing fledgling slayers, Buffy and Dawn settled down in Rome. Dawn very successfully in school and working part-time translating ancient texts for the council. Buffy doing everything from shopping (on the councils dime of course) to having a fling with the Immortal to terminating the fling and the aforementioned Immortal because of his rather shady business dealings. Even Andrew pitched in and was becoming a somewhat useful human being. Andrew's report of the situation in LA had only backed up the decision to keep their distance.

Angel's motives for taking control of the evil law firm, the instability of Wesley, one of Angel's team even getting frankensteined by one of the law firms disreputable associates. With Cordelia missing, from all reports probably dead, and the only players of the LA team that seemed kosher being a tiny Texan scientist and a karaoke singing demon, the situation had been far from picturesque. So the council, scoobies included, stayed away. Angel had once asked for help, they'd stupidly ignored his plea. So when the end came, they faced it alone. And now the only thing to do was try to put humpty back together again.

With an effortless and almost imperceptible shift in demeanor, all eyes turned to Buffy. In any suburban mall, the sun haired slayer would be indistinguishable from any typical California girl. A petite vapid blonde, perhaps, or a self-involved young college student. She would be mistaken for any other an average girl...anywhere but here. Just a few little things altered her presence, squaring her shoulders, straightening to her full if still diminutive height, chin up, eyes pools of liquid calm. The blonde slayer slipped on what the girls called her General's face.

"Alright, we need to search the hotel. Doesn't look like any hairy evil has been hiding out here but safe is better than waking up dead in the middle of the night 'cause we didn't check under the beds. That's you slayers."

Of course, once Buffy opened her mouth, it was hard to think of her as cold-hearted general. Really, 'Hairy evil?'

Buffy continued, "I want watchers snooping around offices and whatnot. Look for clues, smelly books, anything that might be useful. After we get set up, I want to send teams to last known addresses. Look around, pester neighbors. Uh, but nice pestering. We don't want anyone calling the cops. Wills and Giles will stay here and hack into the police database, see if they know anything. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I got one."

Almost as one, weapons readied, the slayers twirled to face the undetected source of the smoky voice. Apparently, the incident with the spider had shot the nerves of the crossbow-wielding slayer all to hell because as soon as she'd turned, a wooden bolt flew lightening fast from the bow straight at the origin of the voice. A crossbow bolt aimed by the steady hand of a slayer normally spelled R.I.P. or at least great debilitating pain for whatever unfortunate creature it was aimed at. Imagine their surprise when.

Faith smoothly plucked the wooden messenger of death from the air as she sauntered down the stair in her docs and warped attitude.

"Well, I guess the teachers were wrong when they said any question's a good question." Twirling the crossbow bolt between her fingers, the dark slayer ambled across the tiled lobby floor. Stopping in front of her almost murderess, Faith lazily passed the bolt back. Sneering at the wide-eyed crossbow girl, "Careful with those, you wouldn't want to accidentally kill anyone."

With that the dark-haired slayer upstaged the attention of the entire room, as only a good train wreck or David Bowie outfit could. Faith hopped unto the counter, booted feet dangling in the air, waiting with devil-may-care attitude for feast or famine. The only indication that the brunette was not as completely blase as she projected was the obvious care with which she placed Angel's broadsword next to her. The peanut gallery was at a loss. Luckily, Buffy, as always, was quick on her feet.

"Faith…"

"B."

Ah yes, this was definitely the conversation grammys were won with.

Last anyone heard Faith and Robin Wood had been an item. An item, subject to bets on the longitude of their unlikely pairing, but together and protecting the Cleveland hellmouth. Wood was working for an affluent private school as an assistant administrator and Faith continued the training of a small contingent of the surviving Sunnydale slayers. So what exactly was Faith doing in LA?

"So Faith, what exactly are you doing in LA?" Good question. As always, when confronted by her onetime nemesis, Buffy tensed up, giving a show of her best big-sister-what-have-you-done-this-time glare. Though they'd had several semi-meaningful conversations since Faith broke out of prison, the two original slayers were far from best buds.

Lounging back onto the counter, obviously unfazed by both Buffy's mild annoyance and the spectators, Faith just smirked, seemingly all knowingly, at Buffy, the room, the room's occupants, and the world in general. "Ah, you know B. Thought I'd check out the hotspots, a little star watching, work on my tan, maybe a little shopping on Rodeo drive."

Buffy's annoyance rose. Arms now crossed across her chest, the blonde shifted from her best big-sister-what-have-you-done-this-time look to her I'm-not-in-the-mood-I-will-bath-in-your-blood-and-make-handbags-out-of-your-lower-intestines-if-you-screw-with-me glare. This glare has been known to whither flowers and most other types of woody vegetation.

The only palpable change of Faith's demeanor was her eyes. Still posed as a captivating centerfold ripped from some glossy magazine page, inviting lips still twisted, but as always, her eloquent eyes destroyed the well-manicured lie. Faith's maxim of misdirection lived on. Say one thing, do one thing, feel another.

The dark slayer's eyes flashed sorrow then hardened, "A friend called. Asked for backup. From the look of things, missed last call."

"Do you know what happened, what caused the big shake down at Wolfram and Hart?" Willow, curious as ever, jumped straight in.

"Where the others are?" The controlled desperation scrawled on Buffy's face was plain, "Angel?"

"Don't know about the watcher or the little Texan that could. Heard a while back, Queen C was in a coma, never woke up." At her mention of Cordelia's coma, Faith hunched her shoulders together, visibly disturbed at the idea of never waking from a coma. All traces of her flippant attitude erased at the next news. "Gunn's upstairs."

"Well, that's good," the red-head, not wanting to catch the absolute sobriety with which Faith had delivered that line, started babbling, "That's good. We'll just find out from him what's going on. Then go, get Angel and Wesley, did I tell you that Wesley looked like the Marlboro man last time I saw him, and that nice Fred. I definitely want to give Angel a piece of my mind. Not literally 'cause, hey, ouch, I need that. I mean… what were they thinking, taking over a big evil law firm like that. It could have been…"

Faith ever so delicately interrupted the witches' nervous ramblings. "He's dead, Red. I found him…in the alley out back."

Willow quickly sat down. Giles, knowing what was coming, slowly took of his glasses to clean them. As if not being able to see would stop him from seeing. The random assortment of nameless white hats faded to the edges of the room, uncomfortably aware they had no personal stake in this very personal matter. Buffy just stood next to the seated Willow and Giles, oddly blank.

"It's a mess back there. Lots of demon parts. Musta been a helluva fight. No sign of the others." For further evidence of the futility of the situation, Faith gestured with her best Vanna White in mourning to the naked blade beside her, "Just…Angel's sword. Just a sword."

Just a sword. As if that wasn't proof enough.

* * *

**Okay, so ends chapter number one. Next up, we find out who survived Wolfram and Hart. Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Beast and Dragon, Adored**

**Chapter 2: Touched with Fire **

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Summary:** We find out who survived Wolfram and Hart. My reasoning for who lives and dies is at the end. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.

**Please feel free to point out mistakes and laugh. **

"I think continually of those who were truly great.

Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history

Through corridors of light, where the hours are suns,

Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition

Was that their lips, still touched with fire,

Should tell of the Spirit, clothed from head to foot in song.

And who hoarded from the Spring branches

The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms…"

-Stephen Spender

* * *

So there she was. Perched precariously on the edge of the ledge of the Hyperion's roof. Faith was well on her way to becoming smashed. Not literally, hopefully. Several bottles of pure magic within easy reach at her side. Empties and cigarette butts strewn on the roof behind her. Taking swigs periodically, the dark slayer glowered down into the unlit alley. Then in a gesture truly fitting the mortal man Angel had once been, Faith snapped the lid off a bottle and poured the good Irish brew onto his grave, the alley. His burial place. His dust strewn around down there with the trash and glass. With the rain and blood. All his pain and tears; all his dreams brought down here. 

So there she was. From her elevated location on the roof, LA gave the illusion of calm and all her problems far away. She seemed untouchable…if only. On the edge of a building, lounging in the darkness, getting drunk, Faith wondered what the hell to do now. The plan had been simple. Get to LA, check. Find Angel, not so much. Save Angel, not happening. Chew Angel out for being a dumb ass, still possible (only if she started praying again). Fight the good fight against the big bads of LA with Angel and his crew…well, Angel was gone along with most of his crew. The best laid plans of mice and slayers…normally got smashed to itty-bitty bits right after they were made. So now what?

Yesterday, Buffy made it very clear where she thought Faith should be. First thing in the morning, the dark slayer was supposed to report all bright eyed and bushy tailed, along with the rest of the unnaturally chipper super squad, to the airport. A one way ticket to England and all things boiled, boring, and tweed. The way Giles tells it, being one of the chosen two, her expertise was needed in England. Supposedly, Faith was too important a player to have wandering about unattended. If Faith were one to have the passing paranoid thought, she might think the British brigade just wanted to keep an eye on her. If she were prone to paranoid thought.

Its not like she didn't deserve a little unsettled suspicion or…a lot. But she didn't really want to spend the rest of her short miserable life surrounded by people that couldn't decide whether to lock her up and melt the key down to scrap metal or run to a galaxy far far away every time she scratched her…nose too fast.

The alternative was running. In fact, Faith thought Buffy and Giles kinda expected it, her not being there in the morning. It'd be easy. Just go now, while everyone was dreaming of sugarplums (whatever those were). Don't even bother getting her stuff. She could do it. She'd lived with nothing but the clothes on her back and the fire in the pit of her gut before. Slip down the fire escape, across the alley. Find a tucked-in nest of vamps. Dust em. Hock their stuff for cash. Maybe track down a gang of demon bikers and fence their wheels. Keep a bike for herself of course. Or hitch her way cross-country. Staying at dives, eating in dives, dancing in dives. There was a kind of disconcerting freedom in having no destination, no plans, nothing to rely on.

But she'd spent the last few months living out of her pocket that way. And she was tired of running. Tired of having no destination, no plans, nothing and no one to rely on. After Sunnydale became the world's easiest whole-in-one, Faith thought she'd found someone to rely on, a place to call home, and a purpose.

Robin was beautiful. Her brief time with him had been beautiful. It should have been uncomfortable and awkward being so close with another living being, especially a man. But taking care of his near fatal injury, helping him eat, bath, and walk, hadn't been awkward at all. He'd trusted her. He'd been helpless as a two-legged blind dog and he let her in close (which anyone who knew of her fondness for knives could tell you was her favorite striking distance).

During his convalescence, they'd spent time together getting to know each other without the easy distraction of easy sex. Though they'd had no tearful revelations of scared shadowed past and no sudden confessions of love, Faith had been more frighteningly intimate with Robin than she'd ever been with anyone else. Even after his doctors declared him fit for action, things between them went slow. Almost maddeningly slow at times. Robin was gentleman-like and romantic. She'd done things with Robin she never done with anyone else (Not kinky things, well not just kinky things). They were small things mostly. Things other people without her mountain of baggage did every day and took no notice of. Other people could never understand how terrifying the simplest of intimacies could be. Waking up together in bed. Arguing without the fear of the door. Sharing a meal. Having someone to worry and worry about. Even simple touches, the brush of hand or lip without the instant demand for more.

Robin was beautiful. He made her pulse race and her heart pace. He made her soft and warm and almost safe. He made her smile goofy. He made her smile.

But all the while during this easy life of closeness and safety, she heard a dissatisfied screaming in her soul. It wouldn't let her sit still. It wouldn't let her sleep. A restless voice would sound like a foghorn in her brain and in her soul. So at night, Faith roamed the hellmouth looking for hot fights and suicidal dance clubs, trying to drown out the doubt. In the light of day, the dark slayer trained. She trained with the girls. Trained with Robin. Trained with any and all of the martial art instructors in the city that would have her. She spent whole days in the gym repeating over and over moves that she'd perfected long before. Hours robotically flowing through katas. Hours in the gym honing her skills to the closest thing to perfection anyone could hope to achieve. Anything to exhaust the voice in her head. It was still not enough.

While some might have attributed Faith's general restlessness as the product of a crackbaby brain, Robin had known better. He watched her with sad eyes. Longing to keep this one slayer safe from evening's empire, like he couldn't keep his mother. Every bright morning she'd return to their bed flush from the hunt. He tasted cinder and smoke on her cream skin. He heard her heavy breath and naked voice. He felt the cruel scars on her guarded back and smelled the jagged sweat on her body. He was jealous of the fickle candlelight that danced across her curls and caressed life out of her deep eyes. Every one of his lying senses screamed that she was there…with him. But Robin had known better. One gray morning, she came to their bed calmer than she'd been, well, ever. Calm and decided. Not a word was spoken. He knew. And then it became only his bed.

So she went whirling into the night from city to city like Kakistos himself was undust and hot on her attractive tail reeking of revenge. Crashing into each city as an unassailable wave with the force of destruction any tempest would envy and all vampires, demons, and other flunkies for slimy darkness feared. She blanketed calm death over whole cities, washing the streets clean of all the boogiemen from bedtime stories. It was not enough. Still that nagging little voice inside her skull…uh, nagged.

Until one gray morning, Faith got the futile SOS call and sped to LA. Until yesterday morning, when she meet up with the Council and the bones of the Fang Gang.

* * *

The tension in the lobby was quickly curdling to the consistency of a sharp white Vermont cheddar cheese. Umm, cheese. Like a poorly orchestrated game of red rover, the room was split down the middle. On one side, Faith casually draped her slight frame around a chair staring intently from half lidded eyes. A pair of minty fresh slayers, a couple of wizened watchers, and the Princess Margaret impersonator huddled together on the other side of the room doing their absolute best to watch her every move while pretending not to watch her every move. Frankly, it was getting on the dark slayer's nerves. 

After the dark slayer's entrance, Buffy had divvied up the watchers and slayers, sending them off two by two to nose around. The supernatural searchers were supposed to sniff around the gang's homes and hangouts, even Gunn's old neighborhood and Lorne's burnt out club. No stone unturned seemed to be the blonde's mantra.

Buffy didn't believe they were gone, he was gone. Angel hadn't been her lover, boyfriend, or even just plain friend in a long time. Sure he helped her out with the First but they never saw each other or talked. Romantically they'd each moved on and their feelings were too strong for them to ever be friends. But there was always that sliver of hope in the back of her mind. A cure for the happiness clause in his curse. A white picket fence with her first love. Now that tiny fragment of hope spurred her on to find him.

At the dark slayer's insistence, Buffy had hesitantly left Faith at the hotel with the crew courageous as babysitters. Faith was meeting someone, her caller. He was late. She was getting nervous.

"Excuse me, Ms., ah, Faith but who exactly are we meeting and, ah, where is he?" It figured the only one brave or, more probably, stupid enough to cross the intangible line of tension was the wannabe watcher. The boy, hardly older than Faith herself, looking down his well-cut nose at her was dressed in an understated suit and an air that dripped money, good taste, and blue blood (blood not literally dripping…yet). Good looking and fit but he was soft in the way that spoke of a life of care, comfort, and opportunities being served on silver platters. Faith disliked him on sight. The dislike grew exponentially when he opened his rosebud mouth.

"Faith."

The boy perked up in self-satisfaction at getting a response from the so far unresponsive slayer.

"Excuse me?"

"It's easy. Not Ms., Mrs., or Mister. Just Faith," the aforementioned slayer unfolded herself from her chair and slunk across the tile. The watcher, to his credit, held his ground. Or perhaps he was oblivious to the presence of the cat.

"Oh, ah. We haven't been introduced. My name is…"

"Good for you." The smoldering once over the dark slayer sent the boy's way stopped his tongue dead in its tracks. On stealthy foot circling him, she came to stop a few inches from his frozen features. Faith continued, "And we…well, we aren't meeting anyone."

"Uh, but…"

"I'm meeting a friend of mine." Grateful at times like these for picking up the anti-social habit, Faith reached into her leather jacket, pulled out a smoke, and rudely lit it right under the floundering young watcher's nose.

Coughing, the boy lost ground taking a few steps back, waving the smoke out of his singed nostrils. Then doggedly continued, "Ah, but you were given very specific instructions. Mr. Giles clearly stated that we were meeting our contact here…"

He trailed off after glancing at the dark slayer's countenance. Faith disarmed him with a smile. Okay, so it wasn't so much of a smile as a slight curling her lips and the presentation of her nice white teeth but whatever works. The older watchers, meanwhile, exchanged clearly amused looks. The young watcher hailed from a lineage riddled with influential watchers and came from one of the only experienced families still alive and willing to help. The boy had been driving them all crazy with his superior attitude and smug behavior. A little deflation of an over-swelled head never hurt anybody, much. Fortunately for him, the young watcher was saved further harassment by the doors being hurled open with a bang.

Smoothly pivoting on one foot to block the shot of the trigger-happy slayers, Faith turned towards the doors and flashed a real-life glittering smile at the newcomer. The tall figure, swathed in a large beige trench coat with the collar turned up to meet the matching brimmed hat, was green. He was, in fact, very green and very relieved to see the dark haired slayer waiting.

"Oh, thank the divine beings of your choice, you're here. I tried to loose them but they're like scent hounds or Scottish terriers or something. They're hot on my tail. Uh, not that _I_ have a tail. Figuratively speaking." A very frazzled yet relieved Lorne swirled into the room.

Just as the twin doors of the lobby swung to a close, they flew off their hinges into the air like startled birds. Enter a gaggle of demons. Kiss of demons? Pride of demons? Murder of demons? Right, murder the demons. Enter a whole bunch of deformed featured demon warrior types. And for the third time that day, breaking her own personal record for that year, Faith grinned.

And without even the courtesy of a starting whistle, the fight was on. Lorne dove to relative safety behind the counter. The older watchers strategically retreated to a corner to more safety use their long distance weapons of choice, crossbow and magics. The baby-faced watcher, frozen open mouthed by the sudden appearance of Lorne, startled back to life at the entrance of the other demons. He shakily pulled a useless cross out of his pocket, then deciding the green demon had the right idea, joined Lorne behind the counter. The newly minted slayers pulled weapons and speedily darted across the room to deal with the demons. But Faith was already there.

In the short time it took for the baby slayers to pull their weapons and dash across the room, the dark slayer had already decapitated one demon and eviscerated another. Compared to the novice slayers fighting at her side, Faith's moves were exotic, surprisingly beautiful, and especially deadly. Her fighting style was a quick collage of every martial art found on God's green earth but it was like nothing they'd ever seen. Faith blended everything from krav maga to traditional fencing to Muay Thai into one kick ass smoothie.

And then as suddenly as the little tussle started, it was over. The desecrated bodies of over a dozen now dead demons littered the cold tile floors. Guts and splatters of weirdly colored blood decorated the room, giving it that nice lived in feel. The fresh slayers stood slightly bloodied in awe of the awesome moves of their older counterpart (and really, who can blame them? Who wouldn't want to stand in awe…never mind). Lorne and the boy done bonding, not _that_ kind of bonding, brushed themselves off and emerged from behind the counter. Everyone was alive, if somewhat frazzled, and all was well. Right. As the saying goes, trouble comes in threes.

Enter at a dead run through the doorless double doors a smoking figure swathed in an equally smoking blanket. The blanket bearing bleach blonde vampire flung himself into a sunless corner slinging the dusty blanket away. The older watchers strategically retreated to a corner. The fledgling watcher got it right this time and shakily pulled a cross out of his pocket, then decided that behind the counter was perhaps the best place to be. The newly minted slayers pulled weapons and speedily darted across the room to deal with this new threat. But Faith was already there.

"Hey there Billy," Faith still widely grinning, a strange glint embedded in her eye from the fight, sauntered over, twirling Angel's long sword in her hand.

Spike, though often rash and impatient, was hardly a stupid man, err, vampire. Well, he was hardly ever stupid. All right, so he did stupid things quite a lot actually, but that spoke more about his rashness rather then lack of intelligence. Regardless, the vampire recognized the mad look pooled in her eyes. "You evil again?"

"Nah, just the usual. Heard you pulled a B, came back from the dead." Realizing her face was naked in blood lust for any passing fool to see, Faith buttoned it up. The borderline psychotic glow melted away into blank-eyed sardonic smirk. The transformation as efficient and thorough as slipping on a mask.

"Still dead, love. Just not the final dust to dust kind." Spike snorted back while smothering his smoking threads that threatened to turn him to ash. Glancing up, the vampire caught the creeping charge of the new slayers itching to turn him to ash. Hoping to smother that potentially fatal fire as well, Spike held up his hands, the very picture of innocence. If innocence came as a picture of deliciously cut cheekbones, bleached hair, and scuffed Docs.

"Uh, the name's Spike. Maybe you haven't heard. I'm on your side. You know a white hat."

This protest did nothing to deter the determined slayers. A vampire is a vampire after all. Or perhaps they hadn't heard of him. Worried he'd also make a fine non-human type target; Lorne scooted closer to Faith. Faith, meanwhile, leaned back on her heels thoroughly enjoying the game.

"Right. Went up in a blaze of smoke, saved the whole bloody world a time or two." Spike was going to damned if he let these two silly bints pick a fight (not that he didn't love fights…or fights with slayers… or slayers in general, because he did). Maybe later they could have a knock down, drag out but this wasn't the time. It figured, he shows up looking for Buffy and he finds these two slayers barely out of their swaddling clothes all set to dust him and the half-batty doe-eyed slayer instead.

Spike had heard rumors the tweed fest was in town and thought to tell Buffy himself about Angel. The vampire might hate the thought of Angel (or anyone else for that matter) putting his hands on her but Buffy loved the old poofter. Maybe still did. The news would tear her up. For all his thick-skinned bluster, the vampire hated to see Buffy hurt (unless he was the one doing the hurting). He fought with her. He fought at her side. He fought to become a better man for her. He fought to get his cursed soul back for her. He fought for her. He would give this news to her himself. She might hate him for being the one to live, for being the one to tell him. Spike hoped she would understand…Spike hoped. That was enough. Of course, the only slayers Spike's going to hurt right now are the two in front of him.

The senior watchers still standing cautious against the wall, not sure how to act, evaluating this particular vampires bloody history against Faith's seeming nonchalance. In the absence of any restraint, the two new slayers blocked him in and prepared to tag team the vamp. Spike, in a show of his aforementioned rashness, throws caution to the wind and shifts to meet their attack.

Rather fortuitously, enter another unnatural blonde, a redhead, and Giles, all a little perturbed about the lack of doors and the demon parts sopped on the tiles. When blonde sees blonde.

It was one of those moments that for those in question time stops and you forget to breath and how to talk. For everyone else, not so much with the time stopping and no breathing thing but lack of talking is definitely encouraged, even life preserving.

The blonde took one step forward, breaking free from her flanking friends. The blonde took one step forward, breaking free from the slayers flanking him. Eye caught by piercing eye. Time stopped. No breath escaped their lungs. Words caught in their throats.

"Spike…"

Okay, so that whole forgetting how to talk thing didn't happen. It just sounded dramatic. Still the rest of the room was reluctant to encroach on this oh so charged encounter. The two slayers, now foiled in their plan to dust the vampire, sulked back to the senior watchers, who were absolutely fascinated by the action in center stage (they'd heard rumors of Buffy's entanglements with vampires but seeing was believing). The amusement in Faith's eyes ran away, once again leaving her face a sardonic black hole.

By some trick of the eye, though Spike and Buffy were a room apart, their gaze and presence so intense they seemed to be touching.

"Spike. Where's Angel?"

No sharp edge to flesh ever cut so deep. Not that it wasn't expected.

* * *

So there she was. From her elevated location on the roof, LA gave the illusion of calm and all her problems far away. Faith peered down into the alley and pictured the final battle as Spike portrayed it. 

Illyria, infuriated beyond reason by Wesley's death, ignored last minute strategy and ran straight into the mob. Like a steamroller, only blue and smaller, she left a path of dead demons behind her, never changing course, charging straight into to the portal the demons gushed out of. Something of a stop the stream at its source type of plan. Ironic really, given the shell's past experiences with portals.

Angel riding the back of the huge black dragon. The dragon bucking and twisting like a tameless horse unused to the bridle trying to dislodge its rider. Angel's sword with one sure strike decapitating the beast. Sword and rider and lifeless beast flashing downward into the masses of writhing demons.

In spite of the blood pouring out of his body, Gunn staggering blindly swinging his axe, charging into the fray trying to reach Angel. Gunn suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, a spear impaling him through and through. Dropped. Stopped dead, eyes dead.

An explosion of grotesque parts flew in all directions where the demons had swarmed over the fallen Angel. For a moment, one of those moments when time and breath and words stop, Angel stood, bathed in blood and the light from cheap alley lamps, unconquerable and unforgiven.

For a moment.

Spike figured the demons retreated over the backs of their dead through the portal only after Angel was dust. The others, Gunn, Wesley, Illyria, had only been the icing. The storm had gotten worse. The clouds whipped up in a fury. The torrents of rain dripped down the alley's walls and washed away all signs of the costly battle.

After hearing the story and the fate of Angel, Buffy stoically made her expectations clear and closed herself up in her room. Spike all marbled face went to the basement. Lorne, ever-sensitive soul that he was, kept the vampire company. The others wandered off, making calls, packing books, ready to go back to headquarters.

So there she was. No further decided with her dilemma. Should she stay or should she go. Thanks to Wesley, Faith could go, the bastard. One of the last things he'd done in this life was clear her record. No point in taking over an evil law firm if you can't have all the perks that go with it. The perks being somebody to bring you a double latte, a good parking spot, thousand dollar suits, and apparently no more wanted fugitive posters for your one time slayer and torturer, and fellow troubled soul. And now, it seems Faith would never be able to balance the scales with him. Except…Faith couldn't make any of it up to him but she could be the type of slayer he would want. The slayer she never was. Not the blindly obedient and throw herself happily on the sword type of course (like that would ever happen), but smart and convicted and…shit. Helping rebuild the council and finding the new slayers would be just the sort of thing Wes would get wet for.

Well, Buffy thought she was going to run anyway and Faith hated being predictable. England can't be a total drag after all. There are all those watchers to tease and torment.

Faith shook herself out of her contemplation and collected the empty bottles. She'd sat there all night on the ledge, thinking or brooding. The sun beginning to make its way into LA and chased the last remaining clouds from the sky and Faith's mind. And Faith stood all touched with fire, calm and decided.

* * *

**AN:** Okay, so first off Wesley. Wes is dead 'cause, hey, he died on the show. Believe me, he is happier dead. I don't think he ever really fully got back with the gang after the whole baby stealing incident. He's not in contact with his family. Plus Fred is dead. Poor guy was running on fumes by the end of the show. Gunn was also pretty much killed off in the show. He did have a mortal wound and this isn't monty python. Gunn is fighter. He definitly would have gone out with sword in hand. I confess I just didn't know what to do with Illyria. So the obvious thing to do was get rid of her. The portal was nicely ironic I think. Last, Angel. What can I say about the Soul Man? I don't think he would have minded too terribly going out at the end. His son was safe and normal. Sure he got it on with wolf girl but obviously not the real thing. His crew is pretty much done for. Like Gunn, Angel is a fighter. Just to let you know there will be no magical returns from the dead. I hate those.

Okay so now to the living, Spike and Lorne. Lorne lives 'cause he wasn't at the final battle. That ones kind of a duh. Spike lives because he is a survivor. Sure he's also a fighter but accept for that one time back in the Dale, Spike's got a very healthy sense on self-preservation. Plus I like his character, not necessarily with Buffy. That ship is kind of weird for me. But he is just a fun character. Man I am long winded. Anyway...thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Beast and Dragon, Adored**

**Chapter 3: Single Serving Conversations**

**Disclaimer:** 'Verse ain't mine. Chapter title shamelessly stolen from Fight Club.

**AN:** Just a series of short conversations taking place mostly on an airplane. Nothing earth shattering.

**FYI: **I wrote this vaguely amusing chapter while trying to come up with an actual plot for the rest of the story. Not my best work. Also the Spike/Buffy conversation is rather unsatisfying. Good Luck.

**Please feel free to point out any glaring mistakes. Suggestions are good. Well good suggestions are good. **

"…What is precious, is never to forget

The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs

Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.

Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light

Nor its grave evening demand for love.

Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother

With noise and fog, the flowering of the spirit…"

 Stephen Spender

* * *

"You ask…" 

"No way, you ask. Pass the M&Ms."

"Give me some. I heard she killed five guys…for fun. "

"Yeah, except it was, like, ten guys with her bare hands and she did it 'cause she's real loopy up in the soft tissue."

"I mean, she's not dangerous…anymore. Uh, Right?"

"No way, they wouldn't let her come with us if she was dangerous. Reds are best."

" They all taste the same. Buffy's making eyes at the slayer of two slayers…what do you think?"

"Just ask. She's like Jet Lee, no, no, the other Lee good. What's his name? They don't taste the same. Reds are so much better. "

"Bruce, duh. Hey, I only got one. Don't hog 'em."

"Yeah, she totally kicked demon ass back at that hotel. Maybe, you know if she's no too crazy, she can show us. "

"Oh, slow down. I don't know about that. There is the matter of her whole stroll of the dark side."

"We don't know the story. Dude, we don't know how many guys she popped. Besides Willow's killed and tried to destroy the world and she's pretty cool. Plus Faith went to jail for like atonement and everything. I'm just saying even Vader joined back up with the good guys."

"Okay, you've been hangin' with Andrew way too much. So you gonna ask her what her murder count is up to too?

"What, why am I asking? Fine, fine, I'll ask. But you guys have to back me up. You know just in case. I don't want to see her fancy moves applied to my face. And save some M&Ms for me."

The sugar-hyped posse of slayers turned like a school of fish to face the bored looking Faith. The brave little volunteer walked over and as casual as a naked person in a cactus patch sat down next to the slayer. Faith gave no sign of notice. Glancing back at the posse for support the girl dived in, possibly into an empty concrete pool.

"So, hey. We were just wondering…well, um, I mean I was wondering where you learned those kick ass moves. 'Cause you totally have a kick ass. I mean moves, kick ass moves. Not that you aren't, you know, callipygian. Uh…anyway…we, I thought they were cool…"

At the close of this very nice babble, the wide-eyed girl promptly turned lobster red and prepared for flight or fight. Faith, meanwhile, only slightly turned her head to acknowledge said babble and cast a blank stare in the girl's general direction.

"You wanna know where I learned to kick ass?"

Sigh of relief.

"Oh, definitely. I mean you were like the matrix or something back there."

Mona Lisa eyes, blank smile. Reply.

"Dance, Dance Revolution."

* * *

"All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go, I'm standing here outside your door…" 

"Excuse me, but would you mind not singing? Its terribly distracting."

"Oh sorry. This is my first time flying. You know with being green, can't exactly just book a first class seat anytime I feel like. Is that light supposed to be on? It's kinda flashing. You know what that means right? Should I buckle in? How long have you been pilots anyway?

"Sir, we are quite experienced pilots, nothing to worry about."

"Honestly, I'm a little nervous. Hey who'd a guessed it. I've traveled through portals. Survived the Vegas nightlife and Wolfram and Heart. Seen it all. You're sure about that light? There are just so many buttons and switches. Anyone want a hit of my old friend Jack? "

"Perhaps you should go back and buckle in. There seems to be some turbulence coming up."

"Turbulence? Sure, sure. Oh, hey before I go, do have any of those wings?"

* * *

"Watch the blinds, love." 

Buffy stopped adjusting the window cover, startled by Spike's sudden appearance. She just sat back leaving the sun covered as Spike sidled into a seat and waved a tiny bag of peanuts at her.

"Peanuts? They're honey roasted."

Buffy shook her head at the bag of nuts.

"One bag is never enough. Always leaves you wanting for more."

They both turned to look out the shuttered window.

"Well…

"So…"

"Sorry, go ahead."

"No, you first."

The conversation was like watching the start of an awkward three-legged race without the actual third leg being there. The third leg obviously being the now departed original soul man, Angel. Both the blondes shied away from eye contact, accidental touches by strangers on a crowded bus.

"You still with that ponce, the Immortal?"

Awkward glances brushed against each other.

"Ah, no. Things didn't work out. Things being his rather shady import business in fresh virgin blood. But lesson learned...again. Office romances between slayers and big bads most likely to end in a dusting."

"Oh, right."

"How'd you know anyway?"

"Andrew."

"Andrew knew about you being all undusty? When I get my hands on him…"

"Who knew the boy could keep a secret."

Neither knew what to do with their fidgeting eyes. Lay them calmly on their laps. Or stare out the sceneless window.

"So, uh Dawn missed you a lot. Be prepared for fireworks when she finds out you came back and didn't tell her."

"Yeah, I figured. How's the bit doing anyway?"

"Going to school. Boys, clothes, the teenage thing."

Spike finished off the peanuts and set the bag aside. Buffy set aside her awkwardness and asked the question.

"So, why didn't you? Tell us. I mean Dawn was really upset and everything. It just would have been good…it would have been nice to know."

Silence. Each minute that passed was miles of earth traveled. They both avoided the other by staring fixedly at the blind. A conversation needed to be had, one about love and lack of love, guilt, responsibility, and friendship.

"Yeah, it would've been."

* * *

A group of well-dressed individuals sat posed around the room. A graying man with a boldly ambitious face sipped at tea behind a large desk. Standing next to the ambitious one was a blank faced man, nothing crossed his unnaturally cold features and he made no attempt to join in the discussion. A young woman ignored her cup and instead was almost rabidly focused on the discussion, revenge and death and blood painted her eyes. Another woman, older with severe lines at her eyes and mouth that matched her severe sat on a couch next to an equally austere gentleman both playing at drinking tea. 

"So everyone agrees, the demons will be gotten rid of as soon as possible?"

"And the rogue slayer? What do we do with her? Demons are slayed everyday. And the vampire at least has a history of being unpredictable. It won't be out of the ordinary for it to disappear. But the girl will be more difficult; she is a slayer after all."

"Slayer? Never. She is an abomination, just like Summers."

"She has killed before, even if that fool Giles seems to have forgotten. A leopard can't change its spots, hmm. Its seems to me the council would be forced to put her down if she murdered again."

"I have reports of her activities in the States. The girl seems to be sincerely working for redemption. I don't see why she would kill again."

"Who says she actually has to kill anyone? We will goad the girl into showing her true nature, a temper tantrum or two. A dead body. Then with a few well-placed words to some of the newer members and a little circumstantial evidence, everyone will believe. Ms. Summers isn't likely to stay here with her brat of a sister off in Rome and won't interfere. It will be the perfect opportunity. Giles and his people will be weakened. Yes, when the time is right they will all be taken care of and we will take control of the council."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Beast and Dragon, Adored**

**Chapter 4: The Chain**

"And in my best behavior,

I am really just like him.

Look beneath the floorboards,

for the secrets I have hid."

-"John Wayne Gacy Jr." Sufjan Stevens

* * *

**Excuses for not updating in a hell of a long time:** transferred to an different school, moved twice, working on a frustrating senior thesis, killed my father, married my mother, and subsequently gouged out eyes. Hm...now that last bit doesn't sound right.

**A.N**: So I recently read that book about pre-Sunnydale Faith. Something about malice? Supposedly it's to be considered canon. I'm not sure what I think of all that. What do _you_ think?

* * *

Stillness had never come naturally to Faith. Neither did listening to long-winded speeches plump with pomp and circumstance. Needless to say, stillness on top of listening to Watchers pontificate back and forth was practically unheard of. In fact the last time these two events happened simultaneously the planets hadn't been aligned and there was a unassuming wind blowing in from the West, probably on account of El Nino. Nevertheless, at this moment in time Faith was sitting quietly around a conference room table watching the Watchers through veiled eyes.

It seems the dark slayer learned the arts of stillness and listening, or rather, observation and caution, in prison. The first rule of staying out of trouble is not to be noticed (coincidentally, this is also the first rule of the evil ninja assassin clan of Tripoli and Fight Club—though worded a little bit differently in that case). Sometimes the best way to remain unseen is to confidently wear a black pleather catsuit—boldly go wherever you're going and no one notices the scene is all cardboard sets and peeling paint cutouts—but usually wearing what everyone else is wearing works better. Faith learned through the trials of her errors that invisibility is always the best protection, next to the Trojans in the nightstand and the knife tucked in her boot of course. Being a ghost in the system is easier by far than being a clog in the system. Go along quietly like lambs until the time comes to burst through windows, incapacitate the guards, and break through more windows. It'll be a surprise every time.

This is not to say that Faith didn't on occasion mouth off, squeak the wheel, or enjoy the hell out of ridiculing some hapless passerby. Faith would not be Faith without a firework or two or uh, three. But, it seems, Faith no longer leaped without looking, well at least in regards to non-demon slaying situations. People, especially of the Watcher variety, had agendas all their own and being used or under surveillance was not something the slayer wanted to taste ever again. Many times burned makes caution a welcoming fire indeed. So Faith sat unobtrusively on the sidelines of the current conversation. For the moment.

"This proposal made by Mister Ji Lee is preposterous. Now that we have discovered this, this _school_," the way the man emphasized the word school clearly indicated he believed the school in question was little more than a mud hut hanging out in the wilderness. "We cannot for a moment consider allowing Mr. Lee and his organization to continue in what is surely a doomed endeavor. The authority of the Council in these matters cannot be allowed to be questioned."

The speaker, a watcher of no small influence under the previous reign of Quentin Travers, continued on to the mixed reactions of the room. "The forces of the Council must be unified. Naturally, these slayers must be brought under the Council's wing."

The current conversation revolved around the accidental discovery of what amounted to a rival, if somewhat smaller and limited, Watcher's Council. On a slayer collecting foray in Japan, Xander had located a newly woken slayer only to discover she'd already been recruited by an alternative organization led by a long-time demon hunter of some renown, Ji Lee. Though the organization was compact, efficient, and effective, it was also isolated. Giles feared that the small force of slayers and demon hunters would be an all too tempting target to the increasingly active forces of darkness, evil, and mayhem. But Lee was somewhat resistant to giving up autonomy and joining the new Watcher's Council. Ji Lee and the small contingent of his slayers had been invited to visit the Council and talk with Giles, Buffy, and others. The week had been filled with workshops and conferences trying to persuade the visiting group to join the club, receive the secret decoder ring, and the support that went with it. But Mr. Lee had yet to be convinced that becoming associated with the Council would help his slayers and countered these overtures with vague proposals that amounted to blowing them off.

Giles was initially worried that Lee was merely concerned with controlling his small stable of slayers for his own gain and power. It soon became ironically apparent that Lee believed the Council was guilty of that very thing and was only interested in gaining power through controlling the slayers. Xander had joked about putting up signs that the Council was under new management, Giles was beginning to believe that perhaps it would be a good idea. The one or two relics of the Traver days aside, most of the new council genuinely wanted to bring positive change the Council and were much more interested in improving the lives of slayer than holding on to archaic beliefs. Many of the current players involved in rebuilding had been cast out or willingly left the confines of the old Council. Several members ran afoul of Travers or one of his flunkies and had been blacklisted. Others grew disillusioned with the bloated and ineffectual policies of the Council that always seemed to do more harm than good. Ironically, when the First blew up Travers' headquarters, it inadvertently did away with much of the useless bureaucracy, the arrogant ignorant, and the downright shady elements of the centuries old organization. In effect, the First unwittingly took out the dirty laundry. Now to convince Lee that this was indeed a different Council or was trying desperately to be. Giles believed that Lee truly had only the welfare of his slayers in mind and that the Council would have to prove they could be an asset.

"Thank you, Mr. Beck," Giles cut in before the rather irate Watcher could continue his tirade, much to the relief of practically everyone. "I do believe it would be wise to reconvene after a lunch break."

Before "thank you for coming and see you after lunching" everyone out the door, Giles signaled Buffy to stay. Faith had been still long enough and slipped out the door, not waiting to see whether or not they wanted her to stay. Unseen by Faith, several of the Watchers took special notice of her leaving. The matter of Faith, Spike, and Lorne had yet to decided. What exactly that matter was no one was particularly sure. Lorne and Spike weren't staying on Council grounds and in fact, hadn't been seen by anyone but Faith. Buffy surreptitiously attempted to squeeze the pair's whereabouts from Faith but Faith was nobody's crisp and refreshing citrus fruit to be squeezed. It seemed that besides Buffy and a certain amount of concern from Giles, no one was too terribly interested in them—an out of sight, out of mind approach so to speak. Faith, on the other hand, was certainly not out of many people's minds. The relatively small amount of time Faith spent under the tutelage of one Watcher or another was a great cause of concern for many in the Council, well, a concern besides the obvious rogue, murderer thing. All told, Faith had less than five months Watcher certified training under her belt—those few months were obviously split up over a longer time and the training vastly inconsistent from Watcher to Watcher. The general consensus around the office was that Faith should go back to start and begin training as if she were one of the newly called. This was not a consensus that Faith was thrilled with and surprisingly, neither Giles or Buffy agreed with it either.

Giles firmly closed the door on the backs of the last Watchers and turned to face the room. Buffy was standing, arms crossed, by the window. She was planning on heading back to Italy after this whole situation played out. Dawn was there. The new life she'd been building was there. The demonic nightlife was surprising tame and rarely caused her any real trouble or disrupted her life. She had a comfortable apartment and a couple of good friends. She had the sun, the beaches, the beauty, the food. She could be an American in Italy for as long as she wanted. And, oh, how she wanted. Buffy was tired. When she thought of Sunnydale, the new Council, and even her beloved gang of Scoobies, it was with the numb distance of indifference. She'd given a lot; she'd given it all. Buffy knew she hadn't been perfect and in the last couple years, she knew hadn't always been the best of friends, sisters, slayers, or daughters. Slaying had taken it's course, grinding her down and hollowing her out. This latest escapade with Angel had only heightened the sense that this part of her life, a life of constant resistance, struggle, and disappointment, had to be over. She knew it wasn't fair or right to leave now—especially with the hundreds of sister slayers out there, especially since her friends were still putting the shoulder to the wheel, especially with the uncertain standing of the new Council. But it was time. Buffy had to leave now before the heaviness of the years patrolling graveyards and cemeteries finally killed her...uh, again...for the third time. So she would stay a little while longer, help if she could, but Buffy would not become invested in this shiny, new mission.

"Buffy, I believe I have a plan."

* * *

Faith secretly thought the Council's new digs kind of resembled those compounds that crazed cults and religions always holed up in. There were massive stores of weapons, food, and magic supplies, wicked security, a distinct distrust of strangers, and large groups of teenage girls being taught about occult. Giles could stand-in as the charismatic maniac leader. All they would need is a passing comet and a large amount of spiked kool-aid and poof! dooms-day cult. Obviously the only difference was the Council had a lot more polite and stuffy Britishness. Faith wondered if anyone else would appreciate the humor. Probably not. Not that she would share it with anyone around. Being a fly on the wall was her plan so far; it was working only with varying degrees of success. Most of the baby slays heard stories about her exploits both from before and after prison. The slayers, hyped up on new slayer juice like ADHD kids on speed, vacillated between fear and curiosity and none so far had muffled up enough guts to talk to her, excepting the girl on the plane of course. None of the girls were sure what to think. Actually, Faith was pretty sure none of the Watchers knew what to think of her either. Hence, the starting over slayer training like a newbie plan.

Faith made her way through green leafy stuff infested lawns to the tucked away bungalow where she was staying. The Council's grounds were extensive and, from what she had explored using the wandering hiking trails, covered area from the sea to the mountainy hill things over yonder. In short, it was impressive and to Faith's eye, at least, rather nice in a homey kind of way (and though she would never tell anyone ever, she kind of thought it would be a good place to hang a hat). The Estate, all capitals and propriety, was made up of several buildings of various sizes and uses: the main administrative building complete with a high-tech medical wing, dorms for the revolving door migration of slayers and watchers, a building designated for research and magic that included a massive library, a school/training building, a separate gym, and several private cottages off to the side for visitors, permanent staff, and those with families. Most of the buildings were old; old enough to be made of stone and look vaguely castle like even if they didn't have all the size. Several of the buildings had been built recently to accommodate a semi-permanent assemblage of slayers, watchers, and magic users. Not all the newly awoken slayers stayed at the Estate. Future plans projected that a large percentage of slayers would only live here for an initial training period before being assigned to a team local to where that slayer was from, worked, or went to school. Teams would visit periodically for updates and refresher courses. Theoretically, the teams were supposed to include several other slayers, a few watchers, and other support personnel, usually a practitioner of magics. Theoretically. In reality, most teams were made up of five or six slayers with varying degrees of experience and a watcher with an equally varying level of experience. Giles always attempted to make contact with local demon-hunters, witches, and occult experts to help augment newly formed teams but outside support was sporadic. Luckily, there were only a handful of teams currently in the field to keep track of and none had had any major crisis yet.

The only active team at the moment that came close to the sort of organization that Giles wanted was the gang in Cleveland. On her arrival, Giles and several watchers Faith never bothered to learn names for griller her about how the Cleveland group was set up. After a couple hours humoring the ridiculously enthusiastic watchers, Faith told them to call Robin and shoved off. That was pretty much the most contact she'd had with anyone since she'd got here. Well that, and the workout she had with Buffy where the blonde tried to pump her for information about Spike.

The dark slayer let herself into the back door of the house. The back door opened into any cook's dream kitchen, equipped with pots, pans, miles of counter space, hanging herbs and flowers, and gadgets galore. The kitchen led to a living room area and a set of enclosed backstairs that usually allowed Faith to get up to her room without being detected. The bungalow was warmly comfortable and felt lived-in while still being tidy. The architecture of the house was rather unusual; rooms and corridors stuck off out of no where and ended suddenly, random staircases impaled floors, and some of the strangest furniture seen by man topped it off. Faith had the feeling the place was designed by someone playing with less than a full load up top. Books were the only thing that consistently seemed to be laying around. Books ended up in the strangest place. Lined along a corridor in order of thickness, tucked away in the linen closet, hiding under beds, and musting in the topiary bushes. And even in the strangest of places, Faith thought the books seemed to belong—like the copper saucepan hanging above the gas stove was naturally where one would look for one's copy of "Grendel: The True Monster Behind the Legend and Literature of Beowulf."

Faith, of course, felt completely uncomfortable in the place. She came down with a serious case of two-right-feet-sticking-out-like-a-really-sore-thumb-went-to-school-naked-and-forgot-

the-homework-besides-like-a-virgin-touched-for-the-very-first-time awkwardness whenever she was in the house. Faith thought part of it were the others living in the house. Currently the only other residents of the bungalow were two suspiciously smart cats and an old woman named Grey. Faith wasn't quite sure who the lady was exactly or what she did for the Council—besides make a mean blackberry scone. Grey, though quite a bit older than Giles and a little older than her first watcher, was still pretty spry and every bit as British. Every time Faith was tempted to write the woman off as an eccentric academic who liked leaving her extensive library in weird places, Faith would catch a penetratingly uncomfortable eagle-sharp look or just get a gut-feeling that this supposedly mild old broad was a fucking crafty fox. Faith had had a lifetime of experience with people who didn't play the game straight and Grey set off every one of Faith's inner car alarms like woah.

Grey had company. A man in a suit, who looked likely to be a suit, was sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea out of bone china and gabbing along to the old woman about the road conditions from London. A plate of what looked temptingly like chocolate something or anothers was settled between the two next to the tea service. Perhaps Faith could quick-like-a-slayer snatch a chocolate thing or two and scurry upstairs unnoticed—not that, uh, Faith scurries. Alas it was not to be. Grey turned her head slightly, looking like one of her supernaturally intelligent cats, and gives the dark slayer a mildly amused look as if to say "I know you were just thinking about scurrying" and interrupts the suit.

"Mr. Brim, may I introduce Faith Lehane," the white-haired Grey continued to ooze amusement as she gestures for Faith to take at an empty seat at the table. The laugh wrinkles around her green eyes and mouth crinkle up briefly in unison. Faith wondered how the old bag learned her last name. The slayer never used it and certainly didn't give it out like candy.

"Ms. Lehane, how nice to make your acquaintance," the Mr. Brim stands up, hand outstretched for a shake, and then, much to Grey's amusement and Faith's annoyed bafflement, helped Faith into the chair. It was something akin to being hustled into a room or bundled in out of cold. It is almost certainly safe to assume that rarely, meaning never, had anyone attempted to hustle or bundle Faith anywhere. The dark slayer, for her part, planned to do something really hardcore and bad ass to regain a measure of self-respect as soon as humanely possible.

"As Madame Grey said my name is Mr. Brim. I am a representative of the London based law firm Brim, Brim, and Broper," the suit continued on with absolute sobriety. "I am hear on a matter of rather mixed tidings. Until recently, my firm has represented the legal interests of Mr. Wesley Wyndham-Price, an associate of yours apparently. I sincerely regret to inform you that Mr. Wyndham-Price has unfortunately passed away under some...murky circumstances."

Wesley's death was not news to Faith but Brim gave the slayer no time make a reply and in a melodramatic usually associated with soap stars and politicians steamrolled on.

"The duty of executor of Mr. Wyndham-Price's last will and testament has been placed on me and I am hear to inform you of your place in the will."

This was news to Faith and not entirely welcome news at that. Wesley had given the slayer her freedom and more importantly, forgiveness. Faith had never been able to repay her former watcher for anything. She felt she had done nothing to deserve his forgiveness or her freedom. And now this...

Brim slid crisp, official documents and a sealed letter out of his slim briefcase. "Mr. Wyndham-Price has left the entirety of his estate to Faith Lehane, including these liquid assets and the usual stocks and bonds," Brim passed several of the documents to the slayer, who stared uncomprehendingly at the pages until Grey helped herself to them.

"Uh. Why didn't Wesley leave his money to his family? He had parents. They're still alive. Shouldn't they get this stuff? And how the hell did Wesley have that much cash?"

"Ms. Lehane, I can only tell you what I know. Mr. Wyndham-Price left this to you. You are the inheritor named in his will. My only other instructions are to give you this letter and this package," Brim pulled a thin, nondescript package from his case and slid them over to Faith. "I believe the letter contains further instructions."

Mr. Brim zipped up his briefcase and stood up, apparently finished with his task. "If you require any further assistance please do not hesitate to call me. Brim, Brim, and Broper are at your service."

Grey rose to show the suit out. Faith didn't notice as they left the room, quietly murmuring. The white envelope, gently cradled in the slayer's hands, was addressed very simply. No name. Just: _For My Slayer._

* * *

**So...what do you think should be in the letter? I've got some ideas. Oh, do I. But it is always good to get feedback and stuff. Especially if you don't happen to have ideas. Not that I don't have ideas. **


	5. Chapter 5

**The Beast and Dragon, Adored**

**Chapter 5: These Few Letters For My Slayer**

"Do I disappoint you

In just being human?"

-Rufus Wainwright

**A.N.:** So, it may come as a surprise that I had no idea what to include in Wesley's post-humus letter to Faith. Or, you know, it may not. I don't think I quite conveyed what I wanted to, but you, dear reader, probably get the idea.

* * *

_Faith,_

_I am dead. It is strange to write those words. As of yet I am living, though, perhaps, merely existing would be a more accurate description of my state. I am not as...simple as I once was as your watcher; I know this endeavor will be my death and quite possibly the deaths of my remaining friends. When you are handed this letter it will already be decided. I hope very much that they will survive. I hope for it very much indeed. _

_Writing to you—like this—is beyond difficult; much harder than I imagined it would be. _

_It is difficult to believe when we are young that our decisions may have enduring consequences on others and on ourselves. It is hard to believe when we are young that we will fail, and in such failures, our fates will be written. _

_Through our bitter mistakes, we destroyed much of our own futures. And through our desire to for redemption, we have given up a great deal of our freedom. Our choices are limited—we must look at the two paths before us and choose. To look on life, on the pleasures, on happiness, on joys, to know what it is and what it can be—and consciously put all those comforts aside. We no longer have the luxury of living for ourselves. We no longer have the luxury to be less than we can be. Redemption is not making up for our own mistakes. Though we can find forgiveness—I fear we will never find redemption. _

_Mistakes we make now will not be easily tolerated by those around us. They will look on us with suspicion, with uncertainty. Always remember that we brought this on ourselves. _

_Our legacies, Faith, yours and mine, are uncertain. I have done little in life of which I am truly proud and I am certain that your legacy will be, in part, mine as well. _

_There are precious few moments left to finish this and I fear they are too few. I give to you what I have left to give. I hope for you very much. Ironic, I find this hope here at the end. I am glad you will live on. You are more than you think. Find peace. _

_Please deliver the accompanying package to my mother. _

_Wesley_

* * *

"Giles, this is going to work again how? 'Cause it seems to me, your plan consists of either them getting beat up and embarrassed or us getting beat up and embarrassed." Buffy, it seems, was not terribly impressed with Giles' plan. "Aren't we enticing? I mean, we want them to want us. Exactly how is pulling Faith into the middle of this going to be a good thing?"

Predictably, Giles sighed and took off his glasses.

* * *

Faith pulled up to the iron-wrought gate on the "borrowed" motorcycle and checked the address again. Nervousness and uncertainty bubbled up in her stomach. Funny how fear felt so much like the nausea. She looked on down the road. It would be easy to pull back on it and keep going. No one would know she'd skivvied out on this deal, this one thing her dead watcher asked her to do. The road looked cool and picturesque, magnificent trees lined the sides like soldiers in a dress parade. The dark slayer didn't know where it lead but she had some idea what would happen if she took it. And that wasn't a place she wanted to go ever again.

The engine revved and Faith slide the bike across the road up to the intercom. Now, to get in.

"And what may I say this is regarding?"

"It's regarding...Wesley."

* * *

"What do you mean you can't find her?"

Giles was not having the best of days. Hell, the best of years. After finally figuring out a possible way of killing two problematic birds, the stone went missing. Giles believed getting Mr. Lee's faction incorporated with the Council was very crucial to the long term survival of, not just the Council itself, but of the slayer line. Still it was very problematic. On the one hand, the set-up of the Council was different. It was no longer one slayer in all the world or even two. It was many and those many should and would have a choice. There would be no more secretive poisoned needles or spray of machine-gun bullets fired from helicopters. On the other hand, the mission was the same. Don't die, as dear Buffy would say, and fight the forces of evil. If the slayers worked completely independently of the each other and the Council, it would be as if there were only one girl in all the world. Mr. Lee's team was good but being good alone did not keep one alive when surrounded by enemies.

Giles did not want to take over; he just wanted to able to help. He had no problem with being back up. Of course, these two troublesome birds of his did not seem to see it that way. He knew Faith would not take well to being thrown in with brand new slayers, being watched and guarded against constantly. Suspicion was never an easy thing to bear—well, not when it was pointed at you. Giles had gotten the reports from Robin about how surprisingly skilled Faith was training the slayers in Cleveland. He'd gotten reports from agents and acquaintances all over the States about the dark slayer's demon slaying exploits. He'd seen first hand how much Faith wanted to do the right thing fighting the First.

He was not blameless when it came to the dark slayer. His actions or rather, inactions, were inexcusable. Giles wanted to help Faith succeed. Now, if only he could find her.

"What exactly did Ms. Grey say? Yes. Yes. Well, find her. Faith doesn't have a mode of transportation; she must be around here somewhere..."

The brief knock and quick entrance of a watcher interrupted Giles.

"Mr. Giles, it seems my motorcycle has gone missing..."

"Oh, bloody hell."

* * *

Wesley's mother did not attack her, but Faith thought that was only the proper breeding talking. Just in case, Faith stayed well out of reach, unaware her almost crippling hesitance and discomfort was plainly written across her face. Faith did not make eye contact or in fact, look at Wesley's mother at all. Instead, the slayer looked anywhere but. Faith seemed very much like a small child who knew very well she would be in trouble for breaking the neighbor's garage window with a stray baseball but was going to tell the neighbor anyway. The lady did not ask Faith to sit and out of the corner of her eye, the slayer saw the butler type dude and several other employees hanging back. In case of trouble pull here. Faith was grateful, at least, that Wes's father seemed to be absent; he'd always sounded like a grade-A jerk.

"This is from Wes...Wesley. He wanted me to give it to you."

The slayer retrieved the plain package from inside her dark leather jacket and held it out. Finally looking up, Faith made eye contact and continued, "I'm...sorry. Wes was a good watcher."

That was all. The lady reached out and took the package, watching through silent eyes as the slayer hunched out of the room. The lady walked to the window, package cradled to her body as she would never again hold her son, and watched the slayer speed off. As Faith slipped out of view, Wesley's mother slid down into a chair, her legs being uncooperative, and gently unwrapped the plain paper on the package, revealing a simple wooden box. Her steady white fingers undid the varnished metal clasp and flipped the lid open. Upon sighting the contents of her son's last thought of her, the lady closed her eyes and the box fell from her shaking white fingers. As the small box clattered down, four worn, hand-painted, pewter soldiers fell to the floor.

* * *

"Sweetie, I can't take this money, not that I generally mind beautiful women throwing money at my feet, but he gave this to you. For you to set up a life."

Lorne and Spike were lounging, drinking beer, or in Lorne's case seabreezes, in their somewhat dark, dingy, basement apartment. Faith was in no way lounging. The uncomfortable meeting with Wes's mother and his damn inconsiderate, considerate gift of his estate had made Faith jumpy or rather more jumpy than usual. The dark slayer was aimlessly pacing, jerking from one direction to another, around the room. Faith didn't want this money, heavy with guilt and blood and regret weighing down her pockets. She'd therefore tried offering it up to the boys. Surprisingly, they weren't jumping at the chance of free money.

Faith stopped pacing and shot off a strangely questioning glare at Spike as if to say "What about you, asshole?" Only Faith could be so eloquently diverse with a glare.

"Never been one for money, love," Spike shrugged as if to say "It's not my bloody problem, you crazy bitch." Only Spike could be so eloquently diverse with a shrug. "Guess you'll have to spend it all on booze, boys, and leathers."

That, it seems, was one of the problems. Never having any money measuring more than a couple hundred dollars in her life, Faith had no idea what to do with it. She didn't want to spend it on booze, boys, or even the always glorious leathers. While purloining some watcher's bike, Faith had thought about buying one instead but briefly borrowing was way more fun.

Faith stood glaring off into space. Lorne paged through the glossy photos in some celebrity rag. Spike took long pulls on his beer and lit a cigarette. Faith suddenly came back to herself and looked around with what seemed to be an idea lurking in the back of her baby-brown eyes.

"What are you guys going to do?"

"Uh, care to complete that thought love?"

Faith gestured around the room, "Are you just going to sit around this dump forever? You got career plans or what?"

Spike initially seemed offended at the slayer's referral to the place as a dump but upon looking around had to agree. Spike was not one for career plans of any sort and so stood back to watch where the slayer was going.

"Well, after the disaster that was helping the helpless, I really want to get back to doing my thing. A little song, a little dance. As much as I didn't love my stint in Vegas, show business will always be my one true love. I thought I'd get a place here in London, tend karaoke bar again."

And this is how a slayer, a demon, and a vampire became unlikely business partners in what would become London's premier demon karaoke bar.

* * *

As Giles was attempting to sort out the report Andrew had sent from Italy, the brief knock and quick entrance of a watcher interrupted him.

"Mr. Giles, it seems my motorcycle has been returned..."

"Oh, bloody hell."


End file.
